


Do Cold Springs Bring Hot Summers?

by MagnusAntoniusBarca



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I've been reading L'Ètranger, Parental Love, Weakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:46:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnusAntoniusBarca/pseuds/MagnusAntoniusBarca
Summary: In the beautiful and exclusive city of Highgarden, Sansa must navigate her past to lead her forward.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really did not think I would ever write fanfiction again, but here we are. That's what quarantine does to you.

” Daddy…” she had begun, slowly, scared. Back then his face had been intimidating. “You… Have you killed people?”

She remembered his face. Its sternness. He wasn’t going to play silly with her or buy her a beautiful frilly dress. He wasn’t daddy. He was “Yes, father.”

His eyes had pierced hers. “Yes.”

Were the eyes comforting? She needed, _needed_ , them comforting. “But only the bad people, right?”

If his eyes couldn’t give her comfort, his arms would. Without a word or answer, she sought them in the silence. 

Sansa was sitting alone in a café in downtown Highgarden City, seated outside. At the end of the street, she could just spot part of Highgarden Castle, its glorious towers of white marble, the cracks long infested by ivy crawling up along the towers and walls. The old street was filled with well-placed and maintained trees, bushes, flowers – all of it colour coordinated, of course, with no sharp contrasting shades. Her café was old as well, the medieval architecture preserved with a modern and renovated inside. It had existed for over 400 years, serving as an inn for many of them, but the sleeping rooms had been turned to flats a long time ago. A very tiny stream in a cobblestone channel ran down along the street, right next to Sansa’s table. The sun was shining strongly on the spotless day.

People were passing. Relaxed. Cute and old, young and pretty couples. All with that streak of honour for something, all well-dressed. She couldn’t make out what they felt so honoured about. Maybe it was the city where they lived? Not everyone could live here, that was sure. It required a lot of wealth and the city did not accept anyone to have a residence in it without a certain income, public office or cultural significance. It was here her parents had gifted her a flat. Which one of the categories did she fit in? She wasn’t earning that much on her own. Father paid the rent. Or, father’s company group. Sansa didn’t even get to see the bills. Most people here don’t care about the bills or what they want costs. It wasn’t uncommon to see young women with several bags from unique and exclusive boutiques walking down the street, confident. It reminded her of herself, of her own time in King’s Landing. At least concerning the former. Today, she had only bought a magazine and a newspaper, along with her coffee the way she likes it the most; very sweetened and with cream. She came at this café regularly and called the main waiter by first name, although he always addressed her as Ms Stark. When she arrives, if Alaine is there, she doesn’t need to order; he brings it without being asked. Sansa isn’t sure how to feel about it, but accepts it and thanks him dearly every time. 

None of her siblings had been handed something of such magnitude, but none complained or showed signs jealousy. At least of what she heard. They all lived far away, except Bran, who studied at Hightower in Oldtown, but he would be the last to complain anyway. Neither of the siblings got to complain about what they had been given. That one tour through Flea Bottom still haunted her and it took her a long time to figure out why Marg had made her go there. She understood now, but was far more comfortable here. Marg was lying if she said she wasn’t as well. Oh, how she missed her. But she was living the high life at the moment, working hard all day and enjoying life in King’s Landing. She would never have the time to spend her days with Sansa, not any longer. She was driven and ambitious, wanted results, chased opportunities. Robb and she was such a good match. The magazines thought so as well. Sansa wouldn’t be able to handle all such gossip and attention, but Marg was born to handle that. She should be getting paid for doing PR for Stark Group. Classical music started playing from inside the café. One of her favourites. Alaine came and refilled her cup and she thanked him, again. 

She turned the page of the newspaper, “The Herald of Reach”, with that cheesy motto: “Reaching for the truth that matters”. The headlines were uninteresting today, or maybe she was disinterested in actually reading the articles. Some political partisanship, a minor scandal with a Union Parliament Member exposed for shady trading with the Free Cities. Another told of the decreasing importance of the Seven. Sansa turned another page, going into the business section and revealing a large picture of her older brother. He had invested in a company producing industry electronics and had been promoted to CEO of Winter Investments. A reward from father, no doubt. Of course happy on behalf of her brother, Sansa couldn’t muster the greatest feelings of admiration anyway; it was almost a given that he would prove great in the field of business. But she would let the men in the family take care of that. She sipped her coffee and nibbled on her open-faced sandwich as she instead took a look at the pages of Tyrell Couture – naturally the hottest magazine for design, in fashion, jewellery and furniture. Beautiful ladies in fashionable clothing, their purity and fresh smell almost going to her senses through the printed paper. She made sure to skip pages 31-34. 

A young man approached her but was clearly on his way. He was in a short-sleeved light blue shirt and white shorts, black sunglasses. A watch most likely from one of the expensive watchmakers in town. “You’re Sansa Stark, right?” She nodded, slowly, almost with suspicion and paid close attention to him. It turned out that he was a friend of Robb’s and told her to congratulate him on his behalf. 

He nodded and smiled, went on his way. Sansa had not the slightest clue who the handsome man was, but most likely a business associate from King’s Landing. He didn’t seem like he was from here, a tad underdressed and rough around the edges with his beard unkempt. It wasn’t comfortable to be recognised. Maybe she should stop modelling for the magazine. But what would mother say to that? And father? They’d want her to find another job quickly and she had next to no idea as to what that would be. Arya would be ecstatic and condone her choice to stop her “overt femininity”, as she had once put it. Sansa called for Alaine and handed him her card. She had attempted to teach him the pin-code so that he could take care of it all himself, but he refused. He handed her a goody bag with the rest of her open-faced sandwich on her way out, even though she hadn’t asked for it. People here were far nicer than in the capital.

Sansa stopped at the Swallow Fountain, not far from her flat. The sun was heavily reflected in the basin and she felt the warmth on her pale, northern skin. Free skincare. Another reason not to complain. She could picture it inside her head: how beautiful she looked in the sun, closed eyes, perfect makeup, light green dress and yellow-tinted flats, her red luscious hair falling past her shoulders. The phone vibrated. It was a text from Willas, inviting her out on a date. At Cairn, no less, a fancy restaurant inside the castle. She stared at the message, the casual wording, and the loveliness of the moment. Sansa had already said no to one date, how was she going to say it to another? It was easy. If there was something Sansa had become an expert at, it was polite excuses and explanations for this and that. She had been forced to learn it when she was with _him_. She felt sad for Willas, though. He was caring and handsome, clearly searching and yearning for his attraction to be reciprocated. Now was not the time, however, and a man with his name and wallet wouldn’t have a problem finding a lovely girl to spend the evening with, even with such short notice. He responded as politely as she had – hinting at a more casual date, which they had been on a few times by now. Both mother and father would like him, Robb, too. Arya could make fun of Sansa finding a knight in shining armour all she wanted. She could have that mechanic, or whatever he was, all she wanted too. 

Sansa went to her flat, up the burgundy red hallway, opened the door with her finger on the scanner. She was so used to doors being opened for her, even her own did it by itself. Inside, silence ruled. She freed herself from her clothes, bathed and put on her nightgown. What a shame that she didn’t have a garden. She would have worn it there if she had one, and people would see her if she wore it out on the balcony or roof. It was too short for that. She hadn’t become that careless. 

“Mummy?” she started, when the phone was picked up. 

“Good evening, sweetie” mum replied. “Is there something wrong? You sound concerned.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just getting a bit sleepy.”

“It’s only 9 PM, dear. Rough day, maybe?”

“No, not at all. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Well then maybe that’s what’s making you tired,” she calmly said. Sansa could sense her smile through the phone. “We’re quite tired here, too. I’ve been teaching all day and having meetings, your father has only just come home from a business dinner.”

“Is he there?”

“He is, but still concentrated about some email and talking to someone important about something I’m sure is very important.” They shared a slight chuckle. “You heard about your brother? Your father promoted him.”

“There was an article in the papers here. CEO?”

“Exactly. Quite impressive at his age. Your friend Margaery is lucky.”

“She’s your friend too, mum.”

“I know, I know. I’m sure you’ll understand me one day.”

“I’m sure I will.” Sansa paused. “It’s getting a bit quiet down here.”

“That’s good to hear”

“Yes, yes it is...”

“It’s why you moved there.”

“I understand, I do. I suppose it must be healthy to be a bit bored from time to time.”

“It definitely can be. Your father and I were thinking about taking a week off.”

“Can you do that? With father’s work and all.”

“Robb can take over in the meantime, even from King’s Landing.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” 

“We had actually thought about going south for once. Far south.”

Sansa dared almost not ask. “How far south?”

“We have the house in Dorne, but I doubt we’ll go that far. It would be good to see Robb and Rickon in the capital. And Bran in Oldtown, of course. We could drop by Highgarden for a day or two, if you want.”

Her tone was casual. It wasn’t supposed to be casual when asking that. It had been many months since she’d last seen them, but mum must’ve sensed that that was far too long. They did talk or text every day, after all. She was here to find peace, undisturbed. Sansa looked at her large bed with its many mattresses and pillows, large duvet. Half of both went unused every night. Her voice felt out of control.

“Please.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa had insisted on doing her makeup herself. The makeup assistant could give the instructions and hand her the instruments, but not lay it on her. It had caused a little argument with the director of the shoot. Why was it so wrong for her to do it herself? People were rushing around behind her, stressing everyone, themselves included. She had to focus to get it right. Leaning closer to the mirror, she increased in size. Her eyes became harder to avoid. It was the finishing touches of dark red faded eyeliner, complimenting and contrasting her strong blue eyes. Millimetre by millimetre, she was getting closer to finishing. She had been told to make it strong. Slightly sexy. Should be routine. Closer. Closer. Her hand was controlled. It had to be. 

Once again, her mirrored eyes were judging her work. Had she been good enough today? Her face and body had always been her work – in the gym, in the spa, in the boutiques, at dinner. Ever in front of the mirror. She met her eyes. They kept staring back. She had indeed done a good job. Sansa forced the sneaky smile away. She had to look sexy, dark, mysterious, today. Cute smiles do not make you look sexy. She could smile another time. 

The girls were all waiting for their turn. Sansa had been grouped with a black girl from the Summer Isles and a blonde from King’s Landing. Both were somewhat younger than her, she could tell. They were worse at hiding their nervousness. She told them not to be so, that she knew the photographer was good at his job and good at making the models feel relaxed. This was her first time in this particular room, but they were all essentially the same. The two girls didn’t reply. Maybe she hadn’t been convincing enough, but she wasn’t going to tell them a second time. They stood there fixing nothings in their clothes, waiting, until they were finally called in. 

“Ms Stark, on the chair. Turn it around. Ms Lilak on her right, turn your head slightly backwards, put a hand in that strong, Summer Isle hair of yours and the other on the top of the backrest. Push your chest forward, try slightly upwards. Yeah, try that.” Mr Elm stood biting his finger lightly, wondering what to do with the last girl. “Ms Charlenne, bend your torso a bit forward, both hands on Ms Stark’s left shoulder. No, turn towards the camera a bit more. Make that butt strut a bit more. There you go. You all look beautiful, ladies. Now, Ms Stark, open your mouth slightly, very slightly. Your left arm, no no, your left arm, let it go down past the backrest. Your index finger on the right, bite it ever so lightly. But I need those teeth visible. They’re great. And the sexy look, right.”

She just followed along. Her body just listened to him. Not her. She didn’t want to bite her finger. No one should command with her like that. The pay was good. Very good, with her name and face. Father took care of the practicals. Sexiness for sale. Her sexiness. Ms Charlenne’s breasts were large and visible in that dress. They rested just next to her face. 

“There you go. Nobody knows you, but they want you. You want them to want you. Ms Charlenne, not so open eyes, don’t give it all away. Those bastards need to work for you.”

They were like dolls on a string for him. She felt her stomach tremble. That commanding voice. Unquestioned. The Seven know what those two girls would do for him. What had she not done for another? The two girls quickly got used to it, relaxed during the few breaks, hardly sweating in the hot light. But Sansa was also the one wearing the most clothes. As if she or mother had chosen it. Neither had been one for light clothing in the space of strangers. They were quickly due for another shoot. Sansa was handed a perfume in the shape of a lion’s head. The sprayer was situated in its roaring mouth. She knew exactly who had produced it. It was her side job to her career in politics. Sansa was told to spray its contents on Ms Charlenne. She did, pressed hard on the tap. 

“No no Ms Stark, what are you doing? Not that hard and remove that ugly angry face from yours. It’s fun to play with perfumes, right ladies? It sprays and tickles.” 

It was always hard to pretend to laugh, but she had almost perfected the art by now. Marg was far better at it than her, though. The two other girls weren’t as good at it as Sansa was, but it was good enough, it seemed. It was only water in the bottle. Otherwise, the trembling would’ve been impossible to hide. She was laughing for money. How she wanted to smash that bottle on the ground. But she could never do that. Just like he had said. Gods. 

Someone had asked if she was okay. She answered in a flustered manner – the photoshoot was done. Ms Lilak and Charlenne went to see the photos, almost clinging to the photographer. Sansa was already in the wardrobe by then, shifting into her own clothes; not as tight but just as stylish. She had her back turned to the mirror. Curtains were protective. Sansa heard and felt herself gasping, breathing heavily. She wanted to shut it up. He wanted to shut it up. He never wanted to listen to that. Whining like a girl, he called it. It only made her whine more, even now. It grew hazy as if she was in Dorne’s hot deserts without water or in a thick morning fog with a mind deprived of sleep. Arya had told about trips to the Dornish deserts, about how exhausting they were. But that was a long time ago. When she went to Sunspear for music, fencing and whatnot, splitting with their parents’ (especially mother’s) plans and desires, Sansa had sided with her them instead of her – which had only made her feel worse, when Arya became her fiercest supporter during Sansa’s fallout.

A sharp, female voice from behind the curtain snapped her out of it. “Sansa Stark?” it asked.

She hummed a yes. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you all of a sudden, but I was thinking if we could do that interview soon? I know it was originally planned in a few hours, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. It’s of course only if you have the time and want to do it.”

There wasn’t much choice for her. It had been planned for weeks by now, but she had completely forgotten about it. They wanted to know about her life in Highgarden for some teenage magazine. But why her? She wasn’t famous. Not really. None of her family members was. She needed to annul the interview. “Yes, of course. I just need to get ready in a few minutes.” She needed this to be the last interview. 

Alaine placed the coffee on the small table. For once, she sat inside the café, although it had been at the interviewer’s, Catherine Natalia’s, request. When she then asked that they moved to a larger table, waving her notebook, Sansa politely declined. She had given her enough space already. Mrs Natalia put on her glasses and readied her pen and notebook, both of which were no doubt battle-hardened. She was wearing a long blue-dotted yellow dress with slightly puffed shoulders and matching blue shoes, hard-clacking stilettos. Her mouth then moved, but Sansa’s look wasn’t reciprocated. Oh, of course. That’s how they are. All of them. Their pen is what they hold most dear, always. She was probably from King’s Landing, too. 

“Ms Stark?” Mrs Natalia asked. Sansa found their roles reversed. 

“Uhm, I’m sorry. Can you please repeat?”

“Of course, dear,” she said, smiling the way middle-aged women smile to young women when they think they know your thoughts. A certain word crossed Sansa’s mind but dared not utter it even in thought. She would not become like her. She couldn’t, no matter her beauty. “You have now lived for little over a year in Highgarden. How is that different from the capital? And your northern home?

“Oh… It’s hotter here. And more relaxed. People are nicer here.”

She looked up from her notebook with a judging look. “Than in the capital or Winterfell?”

“Than in the capital.”

“What makes you feel that?” Mrs Natalia inquired. Maybe innocently. Maybe. 

“You live in Highgarden. You don’t work here.”

“But that must surely be difficult for you. Your nearest family are far away and Margaery, your friend, has moved to the capital, to your brother,” she said quickly, every detail already prepared and the research done. Margaery. She would’ve handled this better. “But I suppose that’s it’s not difficult for one like you to quickly find new friends?”

Sansa looked a bit around in the café. Out of the window. She searched for her new friends that were easy to find among these lovely people. Sansa slept with her teddy bear, from time to time. She had sometimes spoken to it. “I-“she stammered. _You need me. What are you without me? Where will you go? Back home to your parents? You’re too old for that. To your brother? No, he’s already fucking your best friend. But what about your sister? No, that’s right, she hates you. You have to stay here, with me. You know that. I’m the only one to take care of you._ “I’ve been needing some time.”

“I see,” Mrs Natalia said, scribbling. Sansa’s light sniffle went ignored. Or unnoticed. Which was worse? Mrs Natalia smiled mischievously. “Some feel indignant about your sudden move to Highgarden, to a flat paid for by your father. I quote; ‘While all her siblings have moved out to pursue their different interests in arts, academia and business, it seems unearned that Sansa Stark can move to Highgarden without much else than her wanting to. She already had it all in King’s Landing.’ What do you say to that?”

_You have nothing without me_

_Y-yes._

Robb would have smashed his hand on the table. She’d seen it one time, when he was being interviewed for “Capital Times” and was being compared to Tywin Lannister in a less than flattering manner. He had pointed hard at the journalist and you could see his muscles tense up in all of his body. He could be very scary at times. Sansa had no near the same muscles to tighten nor the ability to be scary, only scared. She would never be as intimidating as he. Nor have the same icy stare as mother or Cersei. She felt small at the question as if watching a thunderstorm coming your way. What could do against that but hide?

“I like it here more. I have more things I can do.”

Mrs Natalia was confused. “But King’s Landing is filled to the brim with things to do, especially for someone like you.”

He had once made her stay at his flat for three days. 

“It feels much freer here. The city is smaller, yet more open.” She hid from the thunderstorm.

“And what do you say to those who imply that it is unearned?”

Could she face it?

“I’m very thankful for what my father has done.”

Almost. 

“Naturally. Anyone would be,” she agreed, attempting to hide a sigh. Sansa took that as a good sign. “So, let’s move on to the more juicy stuff, shall we?” 

The chair claimed her. Kept her body stiff. Like he had. She had taught her body to hide her mind.

“You’re in your full right not to answer questions you find too personal. You’ll be asked to review your answers before publishing, so don’t worry, alright?”

As if. How she wanted to scream. At him. At her. 

“How are you finding the single life, Ms Stark? That must, too, have been quite the change?”

_Nobody would want to live with you. You understand that, right? You’re lucky I’m here._

_Y-yes._

“Y-yes.”

“Or maybe you’ve already found another in Highgarden to cast your love at?”

He had never touched her. Not intimately. He easily could have, she had offered her body to him, but he never did. That part had always confused her. 

“I haven’t been seeing anyone,” she blurted out, defenceless. 

“Well, some sources claim otherwise,” she smirked. “But never mind. What do you look for after Joffrey?”

Was the chair falling? It might’ve. There wasn’t anyone to stop it if it did. No one was behind her. She had wanted to cling to him in the night. After being hit, too. Because where did she have to go? Fuck.  
“Not him,” she said as in a knee jerk reaction. Her voice was not hers. “Not him. Please, not him.”

_SMACK_

“Anyone but him, no no”

Sleeping on the floor.

“I-“ Her sight was getting hazy. “NO!” The chair fell. Was he here? 

_BITCH_

How could her phone be so deep within her purse? She tried catching it and her mind but it didn’t work so all she then could do was put one leg in front of the oth- oh there it finally was oh gods I hope it didn’t crack it hadn’t she pick up Alaine was speaking maybe he wanted to help no he didn’t he couldn’t no thank you please father please Robb please please good she wasn’t wearing stilettos Margaery wouldn’t have minded could Bran help no SCREW THAT COFFEE why was she in a maze imagine if she’d been surrounded by poor scary people safe walls have protected these people for a thousand years did you know that Highgarden has never been successfully invaded until now at least the door went up and the mirror was unavailable

She crashed onto the bed, weak. Her phone fumbled between her sweaty fingers, leaving marks on the screen. The cover was black with a line of silver horizontally in the middle, encrusted with honey calcite in a disordered manner. It had been a gift from Robb – she later looked it up and found that it had cost 3000 GD. She needed to call someone. Robb? No, he wouldn’t know what to do and would just get angry, besides, he’s always busy. Somebody would just get hurt. Father? Mother? They were coming soon anyway, no need to call them. How many contacts did she have on her phone? The list went on and on. Bran? No, he was always busy studying and now he had that girl from the Neck. Gods, what had she done? She felt tired. It was 4:31 PM. She couldn’t nap. No. Myrcella? No, not at all. She could hardly read the names now and she

_Shut your face, Stark. No one wants to hear your whining_

Dared she? She hadn’t spoken to her sister in months, other than a few formalities. She had punched him back then. Her anger had been palpable. Furious. Her fingers scrolled to her name and pressed call. The surround sound speakers in the flat were on. It rang for what felt like ten minutes. 

Arya didn’t speak for several seconds when she picked up the call. 

“What’s up?” she asked plainly. Sansa didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? “Sis? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said in low voice. 

“Ok… So, what’s up? Mum and dad said there’d be in Highgarden tomorrow. Probably wasn’t supposed to tell that, they actually wanted it to be a surprise, but you can just pretend, right?”

“Arya… I, “ she stammered “I’m glad you said it anyway.”

“Sansa, what is wrong? And don’t try to sneak around this time.” Had she detected it from just those words? “It’s that fucking piece of shit again, isn’t it?”

“Arya… “ she attempted protest at her language.

“No! Gods, you’re impossible sometimes, sis. You always hide, fuck. What did he do?!”

“It’s not him!” she shouted. She knew Arya was taken aback. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shouted. “At least… Not directly.” 

“Then how?”

Sansa told what had happened, the best she recalled. 

“Then it is still his fault.”

“N-no, it wasn’t his fault that I acted like a sil-“

“Shut up, Sansa. It is his fault. Only his. Do you want me to come to Highgarden and tell you personally?” 

Sansa smiled at that, before realising it was an actual proposition. “No, you shouldn’t bother yourself going all that way. As you said… Mother and father come tomorrow.”

“Is it enough? Gendry can stay here if you only want me to come,” she insisted. “Right?” she then said, clearly not into the phone. 

“No, no… It’s fine. It is. Don’t tell them.”

“I promise.”

They were both about to hang up. “… and Arya?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I love you.”

Silence. “I love you too” Arya said in a hurry, hanging up immediately after.


	3. Chapter 3

Five missed calls. Four from Robb, one from mother. Robb’s had not been too long from each other, all four within 50 minutes. It was his only major flaw, as he was otherwise the prime example of a good son. Yet his rage and anger were always different than _his_ – always fuelled by something more than just wanting to harm. If she knew him well enough, he was already on his way to Highgarden or to visit Mrs Natalia. It hadn’t mattered if Arya had told anyone about the incident; the word was out the very same second it happened. No, that was wrong; it did matter. It was crucial. But Sansa knew her sister and there was no need to worry. 

The sun was shining down on the city. The street below her balcony was already buzzing, as usual, the inhabitants of Highgarden doing what they do, some marching with a briefcase, some strolling about. They were as beautiful as the city. One had to be beautiful in this city, the necessity was brought forward through its mere design. She scrubbed every part of her body with the swamp carefully, lying in the large, filled and foam-covered bathtub. A dark mark on her right thigh didn’t allow itself to be scrubbed off, though, no matter how hard she tried. It hurt when she touched it. It was still too sore. No one knew of it, not really, and she hadn’t told her doctor yet. Maybe she ought to. But there was no need. Not now. She got dressed and did her makeup without looking in the mirror, an art form she had taught herself for such situations. There was no need to be meticulous. Not now. 

It was far to the train station. The weight of every step, how her body and mind rested and relied on the balance of her legs and focus of her feet. They knew the way and led her there through the hellfire of stares. An elderly woman looking judgingly and young boys laughing, no one helping, no one cared. Was it the makeup? The article hadn’t been published already, it couldn’t. Bad news travels at incredible speeds, who wouldn’t recognise her? Who would? Who could? 

It wasn’t far to the train station. She had only left her flat fifteen minutes before they were due to arrive from the distant airport. She made the last turn around the corner before the building revealed itself, how it revelled in the early summer and absorbed the light bestowed upon it. A large clock was at the centre, where the building was the tallest. A hundred roses in vases by the entrance, or exit, giving either a warm introduction to the city or a lovely goodbye, depending on the way you were going. She was going to show them the Gardens and downtown. 

Cushioned sofas were installed inside to comfort awaiting passengers and their recipients. Doves were flying around inside under the roof and a homeless man was being dragged by security, receiving a hit from a baton. People stared at the information screens and watches. The man shouted some foul language. It couldn’t just be Sansa that was uncomforted by it, but coffees and last-minute purchases kept being made. Sansa crossed her legs, though she was wearing undershorts. She had a perfect view down to the arriving trains. 

A train from Western Reach Airport arrived. She quickly located all of the doors, her eyes rapidly shifting between them. They didn’t come out. She looked to clock even though she didn’t know when the train would depart, down again at the exits. Among the crowd. A man was staring at her many metres away. Like a lightning, they suddenly appeared by the exit on the farthest right and Sansa was glad she had not worn stilettos today. 

It was a heated day, but none of them got too hot for each other. 

Only father had once been in Highgarden, many years ago in connection with the Targaryen Revolt. “I remember that street” he’d go now and again, although he definitely couldn’t remember directions despite his efforts. Mother was primarily focused on her. A few people looked at them, probably recognising father. No boys were laughing, though. 

“This the Swallow Fountain on the Temple Square,” she told them. The fountain was baroquely ornamented; swallows, elephants and babies standing in unnatural positions, squirting water from their mouths and into the surrounding pool, it guarding a circle of rainbow roses at the bed of the statue. One of the babies was staring at her. “One of my favourite spots in the whole city.” _Don’t worry, Sansa. He’s gone. He’ll never come here and don’t think that it’ll matter that I leave. We’ll keep contact, I promise. Come, let’s grab an ice cream and watch the sun in the water._

“I can see why. It’s beautiful,” mother answered, lifting her hat so she could see clearer. It perfectly fitted her womanly grace; not obnoxiously large, but big enough to signal a certain presence. She fit the city so perfectly, her hint of class blending in with the light-hearted superiority of Highgarden. “Far more lively than the North.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with the North now all of a sudden?” father jokingly asked. 

“Nothing, but look,” mother said and pointed, “you don’t get such gardens up there.”

They went to the Gardens placed a bit south from downtown, strolled through the paths and over the bridges on the artificial streams. Everything was neatly placed and maintained, structured organically. Squirrels and pheasants roamed, Sansa grabbed some nuts from a dispenser and gave them to a tame squirrel. It made her smile, looking as it gnawed hastily and eagerly through the shell, the large black eyes looking thankfully back. Mummy and daddy were standing behind her, perhaps holding hands, and she felt the medieval walls that had long protected people here for so long. Sansa went to daddy, wrapped her arms around his right and looked up at him, even though he wasn’t that much taller. But she wanted to look up to him. 

“Your father wants to see a monument while we’re in town, isn’t that right, Ned?” mother asked as the three of them walked along. 

“Right, yes, I think it’s on the northern side of the castle,” he answered, slightly surprised. 

“But that’s quite far from here…” Sansa argued, still clinging to daddy’s arm.

They had rented a cabriolet in advance and Sansa sat on the seat behind mother, who studied the GPS. Father was driving. Slowly, controlled. No haste was needed and the radio was turned off. Mother broke the silence.

“I heard that Robb had called?”

Of course. 

“Yes, several times”

“But you haven’t called him back.”

“N-no…” should she have? He could be so angry. She didn’t need angry. 

“Father had to calm him down to prevent him from doing something stupid. You know how worried he is for you.”

“I could call him now, if…”

“No,” father suddenly broke in. There was no explaining comment. 

“We heard what happened yesterday,” mother continued, now facing Sansa. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just happened and it wasn’t your fault.” 

Of course, it was her fault. She freaked out at a simple interview, the journalist had even been somewhat nice, Sansa had realised. They were simple questions. And she couldn’t answer them and got confused and afraid and silly and

“I don’t want to be a model any longer,” she blurted out. “And I don’t want to be in magazines or anything like that.”

Mother was surprised, her eyes opening wide. Father turned his head a little, the furthest he could while still keeping an eye on the road. “Wh-why? I thought you liked it.”

“I did… But don’t really any longer.”

“And you have thought this through?” father asked.

Had she? “Yes, I have. I know, I know, Margaery helped me get it, but… I just can’t do it any longer.” 

Mother sighed. “I see. What do you want to do instead?”

“I’m not sure yet… I need time to figure it out…” she excused, knowing full well that they didn’t like her just doing nothing. 

“Yes, well, for now, let’s just have a good day, shall we?” father interrupted, parking the car. “We’re here.”

They got out of the car. Father confidently led the way. He probably remembered it. This was a more open part of the city, outside the city walls. Still elevated, it granted them a great view of the sun-bathed swaying fields of vegetables, different sorts of grain and flowers blooming in all their feminine might. They headed to a plaza just near. The statue of some old warlord was surrounded by decoration in the usual lavishness of Highgarden; powerful and big trees, beautifully arranged and stylised flowers, benches that appeared old and infused with nature they were placed in. Three small fountains were placed on the edges of the inner circle. 

Mother and father shared a gaze, but father quickly interrupted it: “You see, this was...” he pointed at the statue. “Marque of the Valley, an important figure in the Ducal Rebellion of 603 AC, in which he held the central bridge at Cider Hall when the reinforcements arrived from the North on the Western side of the…”

Sansa was glad to see her father excited and smiled as her response. Mother sent an almost apologetic look. 

“Oh, there he is.” Mother said.

Father stopped his talking and raised his hand, looking behind Sansa. A familiar voice spoke.

“I apologise for the delay Mr., Mrs Stark,” the soft, manly voice spoke. “The ride was a tad longer than I expected, I rarely to get this part of town.”

Willas firmly shook father’s hand, less so mother’s, greeting them both. He wasn’t so quick to reach out for Sansa, warmly smiling instead. “It was their idea.”

It most definitely had to be, Willas wouldn’t dare such a thing on his own. But neither would her parents. They would’ve told her. They always told her the truth. 

Sansa could still play her bodily instruments and replied with an equally warm smile. Usually, that instrument would play itself when with him. Previously, they had. On the two latter of their three dates. _We’d be family! Twice-over, even. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Sansa?_

“Wonderful to see you again, Willas,” she said automatically, looking up at him. Her hand moved to meet his, automatically as well. It was strong on her soft. She liked that. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. His stare was intense, piercing her façade. He knew full well what he was doing. But he didn’t mean ill. “I just had to meet your parents while they were visiting. I’ve only met you once, haven’t I?”

“Once, yes,” mother confirmed. “In King’s Landing concerning Robb’s and your sister’s engagement.”

There wasn’t need for them to meet here. In the open. Although well-guarded by bushes and trees. This was an open part of town. They could’ve met anywhere and settled what they needed to, prior or subsequently to being with her. Whatever. 

“I was wondering whether we could spend some time together again? I became a bit worried when I read about what happened.” His eyes shifted downwards, shame. “I should have helped you.”

No, you shouldn’t. 

“Ned, why don’t you go talk with Willas for a bit?” Mother suggested in a tone revealing how much was an actual suggestion. Both men obeyed the order. 

“Darling, you need to realise that is not a big deal. It feels like it, I understand. But look at him, when he speaks to you, when he looks at you, when _I_ look at you,” she affirmed, placing a hand on Sansa’s thigh. Sansa’s mind regressed and she felt little again. She knew mummy was right. “We do not wish to pressure you, never. We only seek to help you and if you don’t want to have anything to do with Willas, you won’t have to.”

Sansa stared into nothing, a response brewing in an empty brain. “It’s not him. I like him. And he likes me, but I cannot…”

“Can’t what, sweetie?”

“I don’t know. Handle it, I think.”

Mother sighed. The nuances of both disappointment and warm love were there. Maybe that’s how it is to be a mother. At least sometimes. The men returned, all buddy-buddy with each other. Mother stood up. 

“Well, aren’t you two getting along?” she declared.

“Very much. I was thinking if he could come along for tonight? Since we’ve all met up now,” father asked. 

Mother didn’t need to look to Sansa for an answer. “It’s been all too long since we’ve been with our daughter, Ned.” She replied, now turning to Willas. “I mean no offence at all, Mr Tyrell, but I’m sure you understand fully.”

“Oh, of course, Mrs. Stark. Anyone would want that.” He made his way to Sansa, who was still sitting on the bench. “If it is not too much, Sansa, may I then ask you out tomorrow? I have some things to take care of, but I’m sure you can tag along. The lovely weather ought to continue.”

Indeed, this early Summer showed promising signs for the later months. Then again, down here, it always did. She looked up at him, offering him her hand. He took it. 

They had sat in silence for several minutes now. She was enjoying the sun on the balcony, mother too. Father had his back turned to it, having used his napkin to remove sweat several times by now. Northerners were built for much, but not the heat. Most of the wine had gone into and disappeared from his glass. The meal had been fantastic, even by Highgarden standards. Sansa could sense that they all were getting tired, but she had to ask. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mother seemed to pause for a moment, considering. “We thought it would be a good idea to help you get through this.”

“I can always get Willas’ help if I need.”

“You have declined the last several date offers he has given you. Time is needed to heal, I understand and know, but we only have so much of it and I, we, cannot stand idly by while you spend your youth in permanent paralysation.”

“You do not what it is like. Wh-“ she could feel her stomach becoming uneasy, her whole body. “What he had done. Why I came here.”

“The war took its toll on me.” Father suddenly spoke up from his half-drunken weariness. The two women looked to him, confused. Father stared at her. “Most like to applaud me for my actions, but there was a reason I handed my medal to Howland. I couldn’t accept the gratefulness I was showed. I knew what I had done, what I had seen. The streets of King’s Landing after the Targaryen Revolt were filled with smoke, rubble and much, much worse. I’ll spare you the details, Sansa, but your mother wasn’t. I couldn’t function for Gods know how long and every night, I’d be scared to sleep because I knew what awaited when I closed my eyes. I did too many things I regret to sleep well, to sleep safely. I know these are things that happened to you, not something you did yourself. But I think you know what, no, _who_ made it possible for me to sleep well today.”

Sansa wanted to sleep well too. Not in some years, when she married someone. Not when she had a child next to her in bed, no, now. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

She was in the bed before them. She couldn’t wait. No matter what happened tomorrow, she’d get to sleep well tonight. Father lied down on her right, mother on her left. She snuggled close to daddy, her head resting on his arm, her hand in mummy’s. She floated in the dark night and couldn’t feel her weight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for being incredibly lazy.


	4. Chapter 4

The train sped off into the distant horizon. They would go east first, to the airport, then north. To home. For a moment or three, she was close to stepping onto the train with them. She could step foot into her halls and rooms of Winterfell. The cold summer of the North, where a jacket was still needed to go outside. Where her pale skin matched with the skies most of the year and you’d appreciate the few days you could spend in warm sunlight. Where you were safe from the looks of strangers and the lies of supposed friends. Where the cold made people warm. 

Slowly, Sansa walked away from the platform, up the trafficked stairs with the royally decorated railings and headed for the exit. She hadn’t made it far, though, before a voice called a little to her left. Sansa turned to see the most beautiful person she knew, a soft smile on her lips and long light brown hair falling past her shoulders. Her fiancé was nowhere to be seen. But he would’ve made himself heard before spotted, so he wasn’t there. 

Margaery immediately went for a hug, both her arms embracing Sansa from below. Her best friend knew exactly how long she needed the hug to be. “It’s been far too long, Sansa.” She pulled out of the embrace, placing both her hands on her arms, eyes beaming. “I wanted to come earlier, but I thought I’d let you spend some time with your parents, although I would have been delighted to see them again.”

Sansa had no way to reciprocate such safe words. “They would have enjoyed it as well.”

“But we’ll have plenty of time to spend together in the future. I’m here with you, now.”

“But…” Sansa trailed off, a bit embarrassed. “You shouldn’t have come. I don’t have much time to spend today.”

Margaery smiled. “Oh, I know.” She turned it to a slight smirk. “You have plans today.”

“He’s told you?”

“Well, of course he has!” she answered, laughing a bit. Margaery led them through the exit past the flowerbeds. “He asked me for advice, you know. He’s nervous.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that if he does the slightest wrong I’ll send an angry Robb after him.”

Sansa looked to her, shocked. “Marg!”

“It made him so anxious that he doubted he’d turn up today.”

When Sansa stared in disbelief, Margaery laughed in response and shook her head. How could she have fallen for that? 

“I simply told him to take it easy and be nice to you. But he already knew that.” She said, looking up at Sansa. “He really does want to be with you.”

She blushed a bit at that. “I’ve been looking forward to it as well.” 

Margaery stopped, a huge ash tree reigning the background and blocking the risen sun. They sat down on a bench in front of it, people passing by on foot, bike and car, a five-story apartment building on the other side of the road. “Have you? Really?” What? “I will not intrude the intricacies of your relationship, but I need you to be honest, to me as much as yourself.”

How many times had she not tried to be honest? How many times had she not thought that she was being honest? When she apologised to Joffrey, was that honest? When she prayed in secret to the Old Gods for a better life without believing in them, was that honest? 

“Of course, I have.” 

Margaery cocked her head a bit, in sweet and understanding disbelief. “You’ve cancelled plans with him 3 times, Sansa. That makes me worried. I won’t have you discomforted.”

“He’s not discomforting me.”

“I know, it’s not him. Not specifically. But please tell him if you aren’t interested in a relationship. Because that is okay.”

“No…” Sansa wondered, “I want to meet with him. It can hardly hurt.”

“I suppose it can’t. But not being honest to yourself can.”

What did she have to be honest about?

“I want to meet with him.” Sansa firmly said, looking Margaery directly in the eyes, then at her watch. “We are going to meet in the Gardens downtown in two hours.”

Margaery thought for a short moment, returning with a smile. “Come, then. I’ll walk you there, then I think your brother is waiting for me.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“Here at Highgarden, but I asked him to let me handle this.”

That was probably for the best. 

It was a whole new feeling, the butterflies. Forgotten by and hidden from winter. They lift off as she opened her closet with clothes and boxes of jewellery, folding out their colourful wings, tickling. A smile crept unto her face, unrestrained. The spot on her thigh didn’t hurt in the bath and she scrubbed it lightly, her hair appeared to dry faster and she could brush it with ease. Her hand didn’t shake when applying makeup and the clothes weren’t hard to pick with perfect, matching golden earrings that

Bzzzt.  
The phone buzzed and without giving it a thought Sansa picked it up. 

“Hello?” she answered, the butterflies carrying her voice. 

“It’s been too long, Sansa,” an all too familiar voice began, “How have you’ve been holding up?”

The butterflies died. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you. About that little episode in the middle of the street. How your parents had to come down and help you.”

She felt her hand and body beginning to tremble, her tongue as well. The phone was kept to her ear.

“It was always like that, wasn’t it? You always had to whine and begged to call your parents. Complaining all of the time. I’ll be the richest man in all of Westeros but you, some bitch from the North, that wasn’t enough for you. What did you even want? Can you at least explain that?”

Her tongue and mind were tied in a knot, once again.

“Of course you begin to sulk and sob. Don’t you understand that nobody wants to hear that from you? Stop it.”

She fucking stopped. 

“Mrs Baratheon. That’d be you. You’d be on top of the fucking world!” he shouted angrily, making her flinch by instinct. She’d never even gotten used to it. “Why did you have to leave me?”

“… I-I…” she stammered but she had nowhere to lead the sentence. 

“Why do have to be such a child? Such a meek little girl, weak. Children and stupid women like you don’t get to choose, you know that, right? You had no right to leave me. I want you HERE!” he paused after the outburst. “So come back to King’s Landing, now, by my side, where you belong.” 

The surround sound system in her flat was pumping a loud bass, like at one of those extreme parties Arya once went to – where that was nothing but your senses and carnal hedonism to guide you. Sansa had never understood those parties. She had sworn never to attend one again. She broke 3 mascara pens as she attempted to stab her reflection in the mirror and fell onto the bed, her mind and thoughts drawn to the capital of Westeros, as they had been so many times before. The sheets chained her limbs to the bed while her mind was flying around everywhere they could go, attempting to escape, seeking refuge from the torn body they usually inhabited. A weak body, a body of paper, ripped apart when writing roughly without a sturdy underlay. Good books weren’t printed on bad paper. 

Fufckfuckgods

She couldn’t go. She was ruined, her face, clothes and hair all messed up, like a used whore. She hated those sluts. Those Theon sent away from his chambers on the weekend mornings and never called back. Some returned now and then. She had scoffed at them and not at Theon. When Jeyne had once lured her to come along to listen in on Theon and whatever girl was visiting him, he cried. Mother scoffed at Theon, the girls, Jeyne and her. But Father tolerated it and the weekend visits kept happening. With her mind fleeting to the streets King’s Landing and the most expensive bed in the world, she felt like one of those whores. She scoffed.  
Willas was expecting her. She’d let him down, there was nothing to do. Wherever he was, smiling his sweet smile, comforting eyes. Maybe that was a Tyrell trait. She hoped to attain that. She fidgeted with her frozen hot phone, slimy, kept gliding out of her hands. She could send the devastating text, ruin everything, like she always did. She could get away with it. Everyone would understand her beautiful body and face, her innocent eyes installing guilt in their hearts. She always did. 

The bed sank. The air con buzzed. Her mind remained vacant as she managed to grab her phone and unlock it. Too many possibilities. What did she truly need? Why did she always need something provided? Everyone had always provided for her. She chose Arya. “He called.” The next many minutes felt like a dizzy eternity.

The knocks on the door were intense. There were seriousness and urgency behind them. They could only come from one. As she was still roped to the bed, he had to open the door himself. Of course, he had his own key to her flat. His face was redder than his hair. Margaery was trailing behind the pacing Robb, looking far more flustered than she’d ever seen her before. Without hesitation, Robb sat on the bed and embraced her. 

“He won’t get away with this,” he said in a low, angry voice. The muscles in his strong body were tense. “He won’t get away with this. I’ll make sure of it.” As he pulled away, she became free from the bed. “I’m going to need his number.”

“Robb, love, please do not do anything you’ll regret,” Margaery interjected, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to her. Reading Marg’s face, Robb wasn’t to be argued with. “I am not going to regret standing up for my sister, for my family.” He stood up. “And most definitely not to that worm. He’s done with us or he’ll regret it. Now, his number.”

Sansa opened her phone, clicked on her contacts, froze, staring at the screen. Robb was clenching his fist in the background. The anger seethed from him and into the room. He could’ve sent Joffrey to the hospital or worse if he was here. Marg swiftly placed herself by her side, arm around her body and took the phone from her hands, finding the number. Robb carefully listened to the numbers being read aloud, pressing them on his phone. As soon as he was finished, he walked off into another room, stomping.

“We’re going to take care of it, honey. This’ll be the final time he bothers you, I promise you.”

Sansa managed to voice her mind a little. “I… Thank you. Everyone keeps taking care of me.”

“There is nothing wrong with that. We have to take care of each other and help where we can,” she looked directly at her, a warm smile on her face. “You have been the target of much worse than many of us, so don’t dare be ashamed of needing and wanting help.”

“The date with Willas. I’m not going to show up,” she half-sobbed. “I can’t.”

“He’ll understand, I know he will. I’ll explain it all to him.”

“No… I have to explain myself, to him, you don’t have to do that for me too.”

“FUCK!” Robb shouted from the other room, storming to them. “The prick won’t answer. Sansa, I’ll call him from yours.”

“We… We shouldn’t, it won’t help any-“

“He’s not getting away from this. I don’t have time for arguing with either of you, hand me the phone.”

Half of her agreed, the other was too shocked to protest. She handed him the phone but this time he didn’t leave the room. Anxiety filled it this time. She knew he’d pick up.

“Shut up. It’s Robb. You know exactly who I am, don’t pretend otherwise. I don’t care one shit about what you do, whatever you spend your worthless time doing with wealth you did not earn. Buy art or drugs, I don’t care. It does not concern me, SHUT UP, I don’t care who or what you think you are. I don’t demand anything from you. I can make do in the capital without ever glancing in your direction but you’ll regret that you’ve forced me to do so now. Whatever the fuck you think you’re doing; you. will. stop it. You’ve caused her more pain than any other and you ought to be thankful that I’m not in the capital right now. I promise you, I fucking promise you, what you inflicted upon my sister will be NOTHING compared to the hell I’m prepared to release if you as much as lay another finger on her, you can wave goodbye to the Lannister fortune for good. You mean nothing to me. I’m ready to taking you with me as I fall if it comes that far, but know that you’ll be the one to fall the hardest.” 

Margaery had her face in her hands, embarrassed and frustrated. There probably wasn’t much she could do, not right now as Robb fumed at Joffrey through the phone. Sansa was unsure if she ought to feel afraid or safe. Joffrey wasn’t going to be faced by this. He was too stupid to think of Robb as significant. 

“Are you dense? You’re talking to me now, not her.” Robb looked like he was going to crush the phone between his fingers. “You are only going to deal with me.”

He wanted to speak with her. What for? More torment? Humiliation? Another fake apology? It did not matter. Had he even hurt her with the last call? She hadn’t felt sorrow. No regret. What could she even regret? Robb’s shouting wasn’t going to help but he was too riled up to realise. Joffrey was on the other side of Westeros. What could he do to her that she couldn’t to him? 

She lifted her hand, signalling him to give her the phone. Robb did not see it at first and she could feel Margaery’s shocked face judging her. This wasn’t a courtroom, it was her flat. Robb stopped in the middle of his furious response when he spotted her. He was like Father, incapable of denying the women in the family almost anything they wanted. Regretting it, he slowly gave the phone to her. 

“Sansa?” Joffrey asked. “Is that you?”

The two were watching her like she was a sad spectacle. 

“Look, if you just come home to me, I’ll forget all your brother said. And you ever said about me yourself! I just want you here, don’t you understand? Do you think I’m happy here? With my bitch mother? My drunken father? I can’t stand either. You have to help me.”

She found the Gordian solution to her knotted tongue. 

“Please, I need you here, you need to be here, it’s the capita-“

Sansa removed the phone from her ear and without looking at it, ended the call. 

Robb stared blankly. “What did he say to you?” Margaery put an arm around her shoulder. 

She shrugged lightly. “I don’t care.”

The private jetplane was racing across Westeros, northward bound, towards the cold. It had all the luxury one could think of – massage seats, a flight attendant, good food and snacks all while flying steadily. Willas was another luxury to have aboard.

“Why are you coming with me to Winterfell? You’re leaving so much behind.”  
“Highgarden and Oldtown are never far away,” Willas smiled cheekily, patting his armrest twice. “Other things than the business are worth chasing.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile at that. A slight blush snuck its way across her cheeks. It had been way too long since that had happened. She recalled Mother smiling as she spotted it. “What if it doesn’t even work out?”

“Then, at least, we’ve tried properly.”

The winds were picking up as they made it above the plains of the North, turbulence. She had always hated turbulence. They were asked to put on the seat belts and sit up straight. 

“I’m glad you came along, Willas. I’m sorry for having been so mean to you.”

“You haven’t been mean in any way, don’t deprecate yourself so readily.”

“I make you leave almost all you have behind just because I want to go a place far from my problems.”

“Well, can I help you get there?”

More turbulence. They were getting ready to land and Willas was sitting across the aisle. If his arms couldn’t give her comfort, his eyes would. Without a word or answer, she sought them in the silence.


End file.
